Sometimes I read articles/posts that are written by professional writers and shake my head because they are painful to read.
It is not because of the topic(s) but because whomever wrote it had no ability to make it informative, entertaining and or educational.
We can thank the Web for lowering the bar so anyone can post anything and for its help in creating a situation in which people think text speak, poor grammar and authentic frontier gibberish is suitable for everyday posting.
I am not so arrogant as to believe my writing is flawless or that I don’t put out pieces that fall flat because it happens and since much of our feeling about writing is subjective I am certain there are people who hate my style.
That’s ok with me. I don’t need, expect or require mass adoration of my work to make me feel validated.
There are only a few whose opinion about my words matter and even then it has limited impact.
I spent time with a former college football player the other day and was reminded about gentle giants.
He was a center and is only about three inches taller than I am, but the thing is he probably close to 1.5 times as broad as I am.
Those of you who don’t know me have no reference point so I’ll say if I dropped a couple of pounds I would still have a 17.5 neck and wear a 44 or 46 jacket.
What really caught my attention was when I shook his hand and realized it almost swallows mine.
That is not the first time it has happened, nor will it be the last but I noticed it in part because others commented that same day about my having large hands.
But what really got my attention is how nice this man is. How gentle and kind, it radiates off of him and that is a pleasant change from so many people I interact with.
One of my older cousins died this week.
She and her husband celebrated their 7oth wedding anniversary this year. He is a WWII vet and one of my father’s first cousins.
Thanks to Facebook we have spoken with some regularity the last few years and I have been grateful to get to know him better and to have been able to ask him about some family history that no one else is left to answer.
I am told he got to sing their song to her one last time and that he was talking to her as she passed and I hope that provided him with some kind of comfort.
Seventy years is a hell of a milestone and something to celebrate.
My uncle had a VW van as did some high school friends which provided me with some good memories.
Every now and then I look at them and smile, thinking about how I thought about buying one that I could use to travel around the country.
I think I have been to somewhere between 39 or 40 states, could be a little less, could be a little more.
Anyhoo, before I die I intend to visit those I haven’t been to yet and that Bus always seemed like a good way to do it.
Though I have to confess driving around a VW bus and living in it was much more interesting when I was in my early twenties than it is now.
These days if I were to drive I might want one of the fancier RVs if I intended to sleep in one of those and not in a hotel.
It is not that I require luxury but I do want a decent bed/restroom.
Give me those things and I can flex on much of the other stuff.
Sometimes I think about it being the way to write this story I have been working on.
I have put pieces of it down in a few different places and promised to finish it. Been trying to make good on that except every time I start to get somewhere I find more parts and pieces that need to be added.
Some of that is because of life experience and sometimes for other reasons.
It is a gut feeling, write when I hear the bells and ignore the world. Sometimes you have to just go and not look back.